first mistake {open!}

[drake raphael elliot]

Every weekday morning at eight found Drake sitting at a table outside Bean There, drinking a black coffee in one of their in-store ceramic mugs and eating a scone, going over documents for work. He always wore a suit--today's was charcoal with a light blue shirt and navy tie--and he always had his briefcase propped on the chair next to him. Today, his table had an abundance of chairs for some unknown reason. Most of the tables around him were filled--businessmen in suits like Drake, hipsters with their girlfriends drinking complicated lattes, college students who accidentally took a class that was too early.

Drake ignored the activity around him. He was reading over the accounts of one of his private clients who had gotten an extension on his tax returns, eyebrows drawn together and a pen in his free hand. It was like going through the accounts at the station--disorganized, illogical, and covered in useless expenses. Still, this was what Drake was being paid to do and, really, organizing other people's finances had become as much a hobby for him as it was a job, so he was only really miffed at the man's irresponsibility and not the work he had before him.

Since the coffee shop was more crowded than usual, Drake had a hard time keeping his briefcase chair unbothered. People kept jostling it as they walked by, apologizing when they barely touched it and just walking away if they did any major damage. More than once, Drake had to lean over and readjust the bag on the chair from some careless student who'd run into it and knocked it over. He had just gotten into a snaggle of weird purchases in the receipts he was reviewing when someone knocked the briefcase clean off the chair.

Deciding he'd had enough, Drake scowled and leaned over, picking the briefcase up. He glowered at the man who had knocked it off, but he seemed immune to Drake's poisonous stare and so Drake gave up after a few seconds, setting his briefcase on the chair to his right instead. He wished everyone would just go away and sit at the other tables--but they were already full. Curse people and their morning caffeine needs.

[bromtastic]

Eight in the morning was an atrocious time. Anything before eleven was, really. The only reason Bridie was up at all was because of class. One stupid class. One stupid class that she really wanted to take on The Literary Expression of American Popular Culture. Of course it was only given at nine am. Well, it was also given at one, but she had to take a math course that was required to graduate. And there was no way she’d take math before noon. That was just unholy.

So now she had an hour to kill before darting off to class. She only walked into the coffee shop to get a muffin or something, but somehow ended up with an ice coffee that she dumped lots of sugar and chocolate powder into. It was so crowded there was hardly a place to sit. Bridie didn’t understand this. Some people looked like they were intentionally up this early. Like they wanted to be.

Giving up on finding a place to sit, she started to head outside. Someone not paying attention bumped into her making her loose balance and collided into a man with a suite. Ice coffee went flying into the air. The lid, which she didn’t secure properly after adding sugar, flung off. Gravity came into action and the liquid spilled all over her and the man.

[drake raphael elliot]

Innocently sitting. That was all Drake was doing at the coffee shop--sitting there and not bothering anyone. In fact, Drake was being bothered so much, he was practically doing the opposite of bothering people. He was being too accommodating by just sitting there and not elbowing everyone out of his way while he read over his documents and now he was paying for it.

He didn't see the iced coffee spill, but he certainly felt it. At first, he thought someone had just set their drink on his shoulder--his jacket took the initial brunt and so there was just a cold sensation. It was like the world was moving in slow motion--the drink splashed onto his neck and Drake was sure he'd had a few seconds to think in between the first notice and the feeling of ice on his skin and before anything else could happen, he thrust his papers away from himself and onto the table. The coffee splashed down the side of his suit and Drake shoved himself away from the table, standing up and whirling around.

"Excuse me," he said, because even when he was angry, his voice didn't really fluctuate in volume. He was unsurprised to see a college student who looked like a cross between a hipster and a wannabe rebel--students were the worst. He gestured to his suit. "You spilled your drink." He folded his arms and looked at her, the same stern look he wore whenever his sister or one of his coworkers did something of which he did not approve. If there was anything Drake was good at, it was being condescending and disapproving.

[bromtastic]

The coffee was cold, which should have been obvious since it was ice, and wet—which also should be without saying. Maybe that would have been refreshing in the hot tropical weather if it weren’t for all the sugar and crème she put in it, or the fact that the a.c. was on full blast in Bean There. She was flat on her back on the ground, her bottom smarting. An ice cube sat balanced on her chest, threatening to move down her shirt and between her breasts as it melted.

She would have been concerned with that except there was a very angry, very properly dressed man giving her a rather disapproving look. Bridie scrambled to her feet, causing the ice to make its way down into her bra. Flinching slightly, she did her best to straighten herself out. She was about to apologize to the man but he spoke before she could say anything, ”Excuse me. You spilled your drink.”

[/b]

A frown folded her mouth before it turned into a scowl. There was something so rude, so condescending in his tone. Even though it wasn’t her fault per say—the boy who caused her to lose balance was already out the door—she did feel mildly responsible. And it was just the polite thing to do to say sorry. And he had such a nice suit that she felt awful about it. But now she wasn’t so sure if he deserved her apology or pity.

“Well, isnae ‘at somethin’. Looks loch I tint mah coffee. It seems tae be oan ye.” She put on her thickest Scottish accent possible in some attempt to mess with him.
[/justify][/blockquote]

[drake raphael elliot]

Drake had spent his entire life not freaking out about anything. When Drake had a problem, he glared at it until it went away, but this strategy was not usable on a sopping suit shoulder. Though he was a composed person and liked to think there was nothing wrong with him, even he couldn't deny the severeness of his compulsion for neatness and tidyness and the longer he went without getting the coffee off his suit, the more he knew that it was never going to come off. He was going to have to get a brand new suit.

The other problem was that he couldn't deal with the coffee all over her, either. If he'd had his way, he would have found the nearest dry cleaner and exchanged a clean suit for his dirty one and then tossed her clothes into a washing machine until everything was clean, but as they were standing in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, that wasn't really an option.

At the sound of her accent, Drake softened. It wasn't noticeable in his demeaner, but he felt it and he eyed her a bit differently. Maybe she wasn't a college student--maybe she was a poor, confused foreigner trying to get around in a new country. He knew that he would have been much more proficient had he been the foreigner, but he needed to accept that not everyone was as good at things as he was. Turning around, he plucked two napkins off the table and handed her one.

"You could have gotten a napkin." He gestured toward where they were before starting to dab carefully at his shoulder, trying not to get napkin fuzzies all over his poor, tortured suit.

[bromtastic]

She was a little startled when he handed her the napkin. She didn’t really understand what he meant but she took the napkin and began to pat herself down. The cream blouse she was wearing was stained and the sheer fabric a little more see-through than usual. Brid didn’t mind the see-though part, she wore sheer fabrics often. She almost minded the stained part as the blouse was a little costly. But it was a thing and not her focus. Her first focus was on him but now that she could see her shirt and the white cropped corset thing (she didn’t actually know what it was called, though she was sure Jos would) she wore under it. It’ll be a real pain to clean it. Jos might know what to do once she got home. “Thanks,” she muttered softly.

The small gesture of handing her a napkin softened her a little, though she was still sure the man was a complete arse. But he seemed to mean well. For the most part. She wasn’t sure yet. ”Dinnae suppose club ginger will help yer suit, wood it?”

Her lips twisted into a frown again. ”Ah hink there’s a dry cleaner nearby.” She was still using her thickest accent. It was actually easy. It was nice not caring how much someone understood her.


outfit

[/blockquote]

[drake raphael elliot]

Drake had no idea what the girl was talking about. Perhaps by "club ginger" she meant "club soda," because he was certain she couldn't have meant ginger ale as that would do no good to his poor suit. Drake, however, was unable to do any sort of home remedy like that unless he had seen it work and knew exactly how to do it. He could not justify putting another liquid on his suit when it was already stained with the coffee. It made his spine crawl just thinking about it.

"Thank you, but no," he said, doing a last few dabs on his suit. At least he had managed to soak some of the liquid up, though with his suit being hyperabsorbent, there wasn't much that he could get before it was too late.

He shook his head. "I don't have time for a dry cleaner. I need to get to work." He folded his dabbing napkin in a perfect square and set it on the table before wiping his hands together and looking at her. "Do you have to get to class?" He figured it was safe to assume she was a student even if she was a foreigner--if she wasn't, she would correct him.

[bromtastic]

"Buut yer suit will stain," Bridie cried. She surprised herself a little by doing so. It wasn't very like her. But it was a rather fine suit. Even if the man wearing it was weird, cold and a little rude. She figured he was trying at least, asking her if she went had class and all.

"Och aye, Ah hae tae goin' a class oan th' literary expression ay American a' th' gang culture at nine," she had no reason to say the entire lecture name, nor did she have a reason to say 'gang' instead of 'popular.' But she was still trying to keep her accent thick. She couldn't stop now, afterall.

[drake raphael elliot]

Drake clenched his teeth, not wanting to be reminded about the misfortune that might befall his suit. "It might," he said, trying to sound as though teeth weren't grinding together. He was trying to be nice, after all, even though all he really wanted to do was give this student a piece of his mind. In the end, though, there wasn't much he could say that she didn't already know, unless he decided to give her a lesson on how to dress. Somehow, though, he didn't think that would go over too well.

"I see," he said, trying not to wrinkle his nose. He didn't hold stock in literature classes that weren't about the classics--he didn't think that most literary theory was necessary except to people who didn't have actual skills and he didn't even know why anyone would want to study gang literature. In fact, he hadn't even been aware that it existed. "Well, you don't want to be late." It wasn't a question or an order--it was more of an asusmption. No matter how many people didn't care about timeliness, Drake chose to believe that everyone cared just as much as he did.